After the Disaster and the Five Stages of Grief
by Komotose
Summary: Have you ever wondered why Tiffany is so... Tiffany? How'd she ever really make it into the Fashion Club and why does she talk so slowly? Inspired by Johnny Got his Gun somehow... R&R Please? :3
1. Beginning

Tiffany sat alone in her room staring outside the window. The raindrops subtly fell on the panes of glass, speckling them with long-forgotten memories of a long forgotten dream. Each drop that hit the window gave Tiffany an even more and more somber feeling as she stared at the absence of life outside.

It had only been a few weeks after the car accident that had disabled the poor fourteen year old girl's brain. Doctors and therapists had worked day and night trying to figure out exactly what had happened to the Blum-Deckler's daughter but to no avail, the girl was nearly unresponsive to treatment. On the outside it appeared that Tiffany Blum-Deckler was nothing more than a mentally disabled student, who would require educational help and tutoring.

Every day became an argumentative battle over how Tiffany should be dealt with by her parents, how she should be treated, if she should be home-schooled or tutored, or attempt to attend normal High School like other kids. Arguing day in and day out about different classes that she should take or which teachers she should have.

"Mr. O'Neill," Mrs. Blum-Deckler said, as she had an in house meeting with one of the teachers. Her voice was weak as she spoke for the first time in person with one of the Special-Education licensed teachers of the school, "Is Lawndale really suitable for Tiffany?"

A man in a pink shirt with a rather solemn look to his face sighed, "Mrs." He paused a minute, "Tiffany's mom." He said, nervously, a slight panic in his voice, "Your daughter will be in safe hands at our school. We have a very caring student body and your daughter..." He'd already forgotten her name, "Will be in good hands at Lawndale, I promise."

In the other room Tiffany sat on the couch, staring at her reflection in a pocket mirror. She was unaware of her situation but knew that she had been feeling lonely and deprived since the accident. _School?_ She brushed her eyelashes with mascara, _It's been a while..._

"Will she make friends?" Pausing, Mrs. Blum-Deckler glanced at some of the pamphlets that O'Neill had brought, "After the accident Tiffany lost contact with all her friends. They were the big fashion diva sort of girls... they felt like it'd be weird to hang out with Tiffany after the accident."

Mr. O'Neill grinned with joy as he heard those words, "We have a club that is perfect for your daughter! It's a small club but some students had come to me the other day asking if they could start a **fashion club**, so of course I said yes. School Extra-Curricular activities are always a great idea, Mrs. Plum-Pucker."

Tiffany heard what was going on in the other room, including the butchering of her family name, which didn't really bother her. _Really? _She thought to herself as she blinked slowly. _That would be fun..._

Unfortunately for Tiffany, she didn't fully understand her situation yet. She'd hardly talked to anyone or seen the world outside her windows since the accident occurred. All she knew was that she was as mentally sound, sane, and normal as she was before it, and that's all she felt she was sure of.

Mrs. Blum-Deckler tried to hold back tears as she drove her daughter to her last therapy course before her daughter's first day of school would begin. Her thoughts kept running back to terror of her child's future. Glancing over at her daughter in the passenger seat, Mrs. Blum-Deckler forged a smile, _At least she's beautiful..._

The car ride to the therapist was a long one filled with sublime radio music and irritating advertisements. Tiffany stared out the window, glancing at the people passing by. She was never sure why she was being asked to go to the therapist, only **brains** and people with problems seeked mental help. Besides, whenever she did see this doctor, he always ended up talking to her like she was a child. She was fourteen; not a child.

"Tiffany." Her mother sighed, her voice trembling with uncertainty. "Dr. Barger is going to talk to you about school, okay? School?" She spoke as if Tiffany had no idea what school was, despite Tiffany obviously knew what school was.

Tiffany stared at her mom in confusion but didn't speak. She was unsure of what to say. Why her family and doctors post-accident have been talking to her like this was why she had been remaining silent. She thought they had all gone crazy, insane, even.

Mrs. Blum-Deckler glanced at her hands in the steering wheel and then down further, tears beginning to fall from her eyes, "Tiffany, please say something..."

"Say... Something?" Tiffany's words came out slow and lethargic, a side effect of what she thought was the medication. _What does she want me to say? I've been going to this therapy for weeks now. I'm pretty sure I'm fine. Well..._ She looked in the mirror above the seat quickly and checked her makeup, _Yeah, more than fine..._

The car stopped as it reached its destination and both Blum-Decklers stepped out of the car, Tiffany's mom immediately walking over to her side of the car and grabbing her hand. "You start school tomorrow, Tiffany..." Her mom's voice was so weak she was on the verge of crying again, "Try really hard in therapy to talk to Mr. Barger today, okay?"

Tiffany **did not **like holding her mom's that was something she was way too old for. She pulled her hand away in rage and glanced up at her mom, quietly. She was sick and tired of being babied since the accident. The accident was over, her wounds were near healed, she **was** fine. "Mom. No." Tiffany spoke in an agitated voice, stopping outside the doorway to the doctor's.

Her mom stopped too, glancing with confusion at her daughter.

Tiffany prepared what she wanted to say in her mind before saying it, "Whhhy..." It was slurred. She knew she had some speaking issues after the accident but she thought those were just the medications. She squeezed the handle to her purse and stared silently at her mother. "Are..." _Just say it. Are you fucking retarded, Tiffany? You were a straight A student in Middle School._

Her mother stared in disbelief as she watched her daughter struggle at simple speech, "Tiffany..." Kneeling down she hugged her daughter, tears pouring down her face. "I know you don't understand."

_ Understand?_ The girl didn't move an inch of her facial muscles as she rubbed her mom's back. She couldn't even say what she wanted to say now. There was a deep feeling in the back of her throat as if she wanted to cry but nothing more happened. She just seemed to stare **vacantly** out in front of her.

Dr. Barger's office was **cold** and **white**, an undecorated disaster littered with magazines and cheap silk flowers, stock paintings by failed artists, and tacky red chairs. The scent of stale coffee would have made shivers run down her spine, that was, if she could feel that anymore.

Since the accident, Tiffany knew she hadn't shed a tear, laughed, or really expressed any real emotions. Nor had she been able to speak like she used to or even put her thoughts onto paper in a sensible manner, yet so far she knew; these were all symptoms of the drugs and she would be better once the medications would wear off. _I have more important things to worry about right now._ She thought to herself as she fixed her makeup in her pocket mirror. Always needing to look her best.

Mrs. Blum-Deckler glanced over at her daughter and smiled weakly again, hoping today Tiffany might have a major breakthrough with the doctor and maybe show her true, old self again - although she was doubtful. Before the accident, Tiffany could talk on and on for days about clothes and makeup, the difficulties of having perpetually straight hair, and cute boys on the TV. She's talk on the phone for hours about how great the mall was and shopping and... now she had just been silent.

"Mrs. Blum-Deckler." The receptionist said, "Dr. Berger will see you girls now." She smiled sweetly. "My, Tiffany looks pretty today, doesn't she?"

Tiffany waited for her mom to stand up. She didn't want to make any sudden movements at this point. If she did, it might warrant another 'hand-holding' session and she did **not** want that. She was embarassed enough already even having to **go** to a therapist, let alone be a 'mommy's girl'.

Glancing towards the door she remembered her last visit to see Dr. Barger. He had given her a weird type of vocal test where she had to tell stories about pictures, spell simple words, and even answer benign questions about herself. However, when it came time for her answers, nothing came out as planned.

The entire test, despite it's simplicity, had been the most difficult thing for her in her life. When given a Rorschach that reminded her of a butterfly, she struggled to verbally speak the word, as if there was a missed connection between her brain and her voice. When she could answer a question correctly or even muster enough ability to say something - it came out long and drawn out, almost slurred.

The doctor was confounded by this but pressed on, aware of the possible pressures he was putting on his patient. "What does this one remind you of?" He asked as he held up an ink-blot that looked like a snowflake.

Thinking for a moment, Tiffany knew exactly what it reminded her of. A snowflake, like the one on that _tacky_ sweater her mom had given her aunt that past Christmas. Sure to properly formulate the sentence in her head this time, Tiffany Blum-Deckler looked the doctor directly in the eyes, "A..." Her words were slow, "Sweater...?"

The doctor and her mother stared at her for a moment, this was not the response the were looking for.

When she realized what she said, she wanted to correct herself, but grew immediately nervous that she'd make things worse. It was not cool to mix an article of clothing with a snowflake, especially a tacky, ugly article of clothing.

She knew at this point something was a bit wrong with her and she made a silent vow that she'd try not to talk unless it was really important - that was until she was off the medication and feeling better. After all, she'd rather remain quiet and thought of as stupid than speak and prove she's stupid, even though she was an honours student in middle school.

This appointment though, Tiffany wanted to give it a shot. Since she was starting school soon and there wouldn't be any ink-blot tests, she felt ready to give speaking like she used to another try... or at least she hoped to learn why people were treating her like she was four again.

As Tiffany entered the next room she sat down on a soft pleather couch opposite of a large man in small spectacles. Her mother sat down beside her and gave her a quick hug. _Has he gained weight since I've started coming here?_ Tiffany glanced with what appeared to be a vacant stare, _He really should tidy himself up some. Someone his age shouldn't have to dress in such disgusting pants._

"So Tiffany, how are you doing today?" He chuckled, his jolly voice reminding her of Santa Clause. "Is Tiffany doing well?" He spoke directly at her as if she were an infant.

Tiffany stared at the doctor, unsure of how to respond to that. She found it really offensive but tried her best to say something. "Gooood." She droned, zero emotion to her face.

Her mother looked at her nervously, praying that Tiffany would respond like she'd used to. _I had a wonderful day so far! You?_ Might've been a response she'd given before the accident.

"That's good Tiffany... and how is your mom?"

Mrs. Blum-Deckler looked at Dr. Barger with fatigue and distress before telling him the news about Tiffany's new school situation. "I'm worried about how she'll be at school." She immediately started in, "Will the other girls treat her well? Tiffany is so beautiful... and she **was** so..." Pausing she began to cry, "Tiffany was a straight-A student..."

Tiffany stared at her crying mother and then looked at the doctor, trying to understand exactly what was going on. So far she was still aware, she was still a straight-A student. High school didn't seem too much different than middle school as far as she knew.

Dr. Barger nodded at Mrs. Blum-Deckler with a solemn look. "Unfortunately this is a tough case, Mrs. Blum-Deckler. With Tiffany in this condition it might be best to just keep her home-schooled."

_Home-schooled!_ Tiffany wanted to shout at the doctor but her mouth wouldn't move. _Only losers and geeks and like... nerds go get home schooled. I may be smart but that __**does not**__ warrant home-schooling._ Staring angrily at the doctor, Tiffany needed to speak up against this, "Like..." She forced herself to speak, even though she felt she wasn't ready yet, "Couldn't you..."

Expectantly the doctor and her mother watched as Tiffany began to speak.

She knew what she was going to say. She wanted to try high school on a trial **period** to prove that she was well beyond capable of attending high school like any other girl her age. "Have a... Period?"

By the time Tiffany realized what she had said, she felt like climbing into her purse and dying. Shocked, she vacantly stared at Dr. Barger in disbelief - a look to him that translated as complete and utter stupidity. "If it were up to me." Dr. Barger glanced at Tiffany, "I would send her in on a trial basis in a special education setting and see how well that plays out. The school you've sent me information about seems like they'd be willing to help with Tiffany's... disorder."

_Disorder?_ She heard the word but it didn't register in her head enough. She was still shocked that she couldn't even say something as clean cut at that.


	2. Chapter Two

Tiffany stood outside the brooding doors of Lawndale High. Her long black hair blowing softly in the wind. The average person would have been nervous about entering a new school, but Tiffany wasn't. She was beyond ready to engage in making new friends and hopefully seeing her old friends from middle school again. Taking care not to enter with distressed make-up, she pulled a compact from her purse and checked her face, just to make sure she was perfect. _ Perfect._ She thought to herself as she put the compact back into her purse. _I've missed school..._

Walking into the school, Tiffany took in the familiar sounds and smells of a typical school. Students hustled and bustled about as teachers moved swiftly through the halls avoiding the traffic at all costs. Glancing at all the students she saw, Tiffany attempted to scope out her friends from middle school and ask them exactly what's been going on and why they had ditched her but-

Her thoughts were interrupted when she bumped into a familiar man in a pink shirt. Lost in a quick daze Tiffany glanced upwards to see it was Mr. O'Neill, who had come to her house a few nights before. "Oh, Tiffany." He spoke with his overly gentle voice, "I'm glad to see you've come here. I was worried that you wouldn't make it."

Blinking a few times, Tiffany regained her composure and noted in her mind that she'd have to check her make-up again, in case any of it got smeared when she ran into O'Neill.

"I have your schedule and everything in the office with the school psychologist." He continued, "She's very nice, Tiffany. Oh but please don't be scared to meet the principal either. Ms. Li is a very nice woman. I think you and her might find you have some things in common."

Tiffany listened, taking in everything he was saying while remaining silent. This was all cool that she would have to meet with the principal and stuff... after all she was coming into the semester a few weeks late... but why the psychologist? Maybe they'd explain why everyone's been so weird to her. _Common?_ She thought when she heard O'Neill mention something about what her and the principal would have in common, _Does she dress really well too? The principal at our old school wore really ugly ties..._

Tiffany sat patiently in Ms. Li's office, awaiting the moment where she would meet her new school principal. She hoped the principal would break the mold of typical principals at school by actually dressing well and not being too eccentric about it.

"Oh, this is so exciting, Tiffany..." O'Neill put his hand on her shoulder and smiled, "You'll be able to be treated like a normal student here! No one will even know you have well... 'special' problems." When he spoke he took his hand off her shoulder and put the word 'special' in air quotes.

Tiffany felt the urge to speak up and began to collect her thoughts into rational notes to tell the teacher that she didn't have any special problems, unless he was talking about her special skills of applying make-up. "No..." Tiffany spoke up a bit, ready to explain that she didn't have 'special problems.' "Problems." Pausing she tried to figure out what to say, becoming more and more nervous as she spoke, her words slurring more. "Speciaallllll..." The last word droned on making her feel stupider than she had felt since she claimed the doctor had periods.

Mr. O'Neill looked at the student with tool like care in his eyes, "Right. Tiffany, I know you're going through a tough time now... 'adjusting'..." He did the air quotes things again. As if the girl didn't understand INFLECTION... something he also did when he said those words.

"Alright, alright..." A slightly heavyset, middle-aged Asian woman came in, sitting down at the desk, "Ah. Our new student in question." Picking up some papers, she began to search through them.

Following behind her, a thin woman with brown hair and a nearly disgusted look came into the room and stood behind the desk. Her white doctor lab coat probably had to do with medicine so Tiffany immediately assumed she had to be the psychologist but... She looked at the woman at the desk and shuddered. _What could I have in common with her?_ Tiffany would have shuddered, if she could, but instead just continued to eye the newcomer, _Ew... Pantsuit..._

The psychologist stood quietly in the background as Ms. Li began to speak, "So, Tiffany Blum-Deckler. I've heard many things about you. Your teachers on your schedule are all well aware of your condition and we are all ready, willing, and able to help you in your struggle.

"Whaat?" Tiffany commented in confusion. _Condition?_ She thought, staring in silence at the principal still confounded about what was going on.

Principal Li nodded, staring at the papers, glanced at the school psychologist. "Mrs. Manson, do you have any other things you'd like to add?" After all, she was being paid from the school budget.. Can't forget Mrs. Manson and her lack-there-of helping the student population.

"No." Manson commented, removing a piece of paper from her jacket and crumbling it up, tossing it in the trash bin. It wasn't that important. Just something to do with weekly meetings to the school psychologist for Tiffany.

Tiffany looked at Ms. Li again before finally understanding what Mr. O'Neill had meant by 'something in common.' _Race?_ Tiffany remained silent, as saying anything more would just make things really confusing for both her and everyone else. _What's that have to do with anything?_

Ms. Li nodded, "Very well then." She looked at Mr. O'Neill, "According to the schedule then, your plan period is almost over and she's in your class next period. So get out there and show Tiffany the true spirit of Lawndale High!"

Tiffany sat in the front of the classroom like she'd always had done back in middle school. A great location to show she gave a damn about her grades and a great place to sit so the boys who were going to the back of the room could see her. Having gotten to class earlier than the other students, she was able to watch as more students came in, hoping some cute boys would notice her while she sat there, looking in her compact and adjusting her blush. Attention. Looks. Ahh, this is what she was waiting for, the true factor of high school. She was beyond ready to just scream and shout at the joy that was building up in the back of her head.

"That's why we should probably go with that girl in 2nd period." A deep, almost snotty feminine voice said as it passed through the room and to the back, "Her style could totally use some major work but that is fixable to say the least."

Nodding, a girl with pigtails followed behind her voice with a notepad, scrambling to write down every word that was being said, "Didn't she have braces though?"

"Ew. Right. Braces." The voices stopped in the back of the room.

Mr. O'Neill stood anxiously in the front of the room with an impatient look on his face. His eyes were full of life as he glanced over and over at the students in his room, as if about to leap out of his skin at the announcement of a new student in the room. He was thrilled. Thrilled beyond all thrill. "Class." The pink shirted man spoke, nearly bursting from his seams, while trying to contain himself in the calmest manner he could, "Before we start class today, I would like to welcome a new student to our class, and actually the school!"

Tiffany had still been looking at her compact, finding that she had a harder time multi-tasking than she had used to. The voice of the teacher hadn't even phased her yet. _I should probably pluck my eyebrows tonight..._ She stared at them in the compact some more and glanced upwards when she heard the bell ring again. Blinking she put the compact away and stared at the teacher, wondering when he was going to start talking.

"Tiffany." He said, motioning towards he girl, "Would you like to say 'Hello' to the class?" In O'Neill's mind this was a great gesture. Great way for the teacher to get to know the student, student to know the other students, and teacher to see how the students would react to the new student. "It's okay, Tiffany."

Tiffany stood up. The old Tiffany would have probably darted up in front and introduced herself like the hyperactive soul she was but now she just walked up slowly and stared outwards at the class. She squeezed the handle of her purse a bit and stared at them. They stared back. _Do I say something? _

O'Neill smiled to the class, "This is Tiffany Blum-Deckler." He smiled with joy as he patted the girl on the back, "She will be joining us from here on out!"

"Hmm..." A familiar voice whispered in the back of the room, "That girl might do."

The pig-tailed girl nodded frantically and wrote that down too, "Sandi, she hasn't said anything yet. Do you think she's shy or something?"

"Stacy..." Sandi commented, "Don't be foolish. Someone that pretty can't be shy."

Stacy jotted that down too and looked at the Asian girl up front, "She is pretty, Sandi... She would make a great addition to our club."

Smiling, Sandi double-checked the girl, "We will talk to her after class and see if she is a suitable candidate."

O'Neill nudged the back of the girl. "If you're nervous Tiffany, you can sit down... but at least say Hi to the class..." For being a caring and understanding teacher, he certainly was not caring or understanding.

It's not that she was nervous. She just couldn't say it. Every time she tried to form a sentence, it felt lost. She tried over and over again to say something. _Say something._ She glanced at the students.

The students glanced at the girl in confusion. O'Neill began to stare at her in a nervous panic. Sandi and Stacy continued to watch with utmost interest.

"Hello..." She droned. Droned. Agh. She wanted to run off into a corner, but what could she do. No. She had to stay. Backing down would be pathetic. Standing up there she nodded, smiling softly to the teacher and students the best she could, trying to hide the feeling of agony that laid in the back of her throat.

With that, Tiffany sat down and Mr. O'Neill began his class, nervously praying in the back of his mind he didn't embarrass her.

Tiffany sat in class quietly trying as hard as she could to pay attention but found it to be more of a struggle than anything she had ever thought of. The words on the paper seemed to get into her head but once it was time to write out her own copy in her notebook, she felt as if her hand was frozen. Her writing was messy and labored, not at all like it was before the accident. How hard was it to copy sentences?

The rest of the class took their notes from the book as told while O'Neill watched the class, "Oh, Tiffany." He said as he looked to the struggling student. "You know..." He came up closer to her and whispered in her ear. "I've written some notes for you." He smiled, "Didn't they tell you, you're excused from taking notes?"

"Really...?" She asked quietly, looking at the students around her. She had always taken notes in school, that was a key way to memorize information.

O'Neill smiled, "Just don't tell the other students, they might get jealous."

No matter how hard it was for her, Tiffany continued to take notes. This was High School, not grade school. Everything that happened here would effect her future in college.

She continued to do her work, despite failing terribly at it. The bell rang and in a bit of frustration, Tiffany collected her things.

"Hey." A familiar voice said from behind her, "Do you have a minute, Tiffany?" It was Sandi from the back of the room.

Her pig-tailed friend stood nervously beside her, holding a pen and notebook as if about to start writing something at anytime. "We want to know if..."

"Stacy!" Sandi interrupted, "As president of the Fashion Club, I should be the one to ask any new members to join." She adjusted her hair a bit, "Hello. I am Sandi Griffin, president of Lawndale High's newly established Fashion Club."

Tiffany stared at the two girls in complete and utter shock. She knew she still had the popularity vibe, fashionista appearance, and all around beauty to become a member of any club she'd want. She looked at the two girls and nodded, though not prepared yet to talk.

"We are looking for members and we think you would be like, the perfect candidate to try-out for our very strict policy." Sandi smiled, "Stacy, the list please?"

Stacy filed through the notebook and pulled out a small slip of paper. "Number one... Does she attend Lawndale High?"

Tiffany blinked. Obviously she just started here. She looked at the club's president, "Yes." That came out easier than she expected. Though it was nothing close to what she would have liked to say.

"Number two... Stubby Fingertips?" Stacy continued to read off the list and Sandi checked Tiffany for the proper outward appearance checks.

_Is all this really necessary?_ Tiffany thought to herself while looking at the other two girls, _They're really pretty but isn't fashion more about clothes and style than looks?_ She looked at the girls. The one without pigtails felt pretty imposing and actually almost terrifying and the girl with pig-tails seemed to be scared of her.

"Alright, Tiffany. We have one last question for you before Stacy and I decide if you are good enough to be in our Fashion Club." Sandi grinned, "Why do you want to be in the fashion club?"

_Didn't you ask me if I wanted to be in it?_ She looked at both girls and prepared herself to say her next sentence. She had been getting a bit better at talking through the day so maybe, just maybe she was better by now. "Well..." She slurred.

"..." Sandi raised an eyebrow, "Well?"

Tiffany stared and looked at both girls, "I..."

"Maybe she doesn't speak English that well." Stacy commented quickly to Sandi. When she said that she had the best intent to defend Tiffany but it came out sort of mean, "I mean..."

Sandi glared at Stacy then looked back at Tiffany, "Well, I...?" Her patience was drawing to an end... but luckily the bell rang before Tiffany could even get a chance to finish her statement, "We will continue this after school, Tiffany." Sandi said, "Please have an answer by then."

The two girls left quickly. She couldn't be late to her next class already. Not now. The comment about 'not speaking English that well.' didn't even have a chance to phase her as she walked out the door and into the hallway towards her next class. Hopefully Mr. De'Martino wouldn't yell at her for being tardy on her first day.

The hallway seemed nearly empty as she traveled down the hallway towards her history class. Her mind geared only on that until a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts completely.

"Tiffany?"


End file.
